Chapter Twenty-Four
Breakfast at Duskbourne had never felt so quiet.
The silverware gleamed, the tea steamed, and Cook had prepared an array of dishes that should have filled the room with warmth, but instead, the morning air hung cold and heavy, like frost settling over glass.
Charlotte sat at her place, staring at the untouched slice of toast on her plate.
Across the long table, Cassian was reading the morning paper as though it demanded his full concentration.
He had greeted her politely when he entered.
It was not polite enough to be cruel, but distant enough to remind her that their previous closeness had slipped through her fingers like sand.
She lifted her teacup, forcing composure into every movement, and decided to ask the first thing that came to mind.
“Did you sleep well, Your Grace?”
Cassian did not look up. “Well enough,” he replied, turning a page.
She glanced toward him. “I was awake for quite some time. I did not hear you come to bed.”
“That is because I did not,” he said without inflection. “There was work to be done.”
Charlotte swallowed, nodding as though the answer had not pierced her. “I see.”
Another pause followed, longer and colder.
She tried again. “Will you be in your study today?”
“For part of the morning.”
“And later?”
His eyes flicked up at last. “What matters require my schedule, Duchess?”
She stiffened. Duchess. Not Charlotte.
“None,” she answered quietly. “I merely asked.”
He offered a curt nod. “Then I shall be occupied. There is much to address.”
Her chest tightened. She set down her teacup with care lest it betray the tremor starting in her fingers.
“Of course,” she murmured.
They lapsed back into silence. The only sounds were the faint clink of porcelain and the slow, deliberate turning of Cassian’s newspaper. Charlotte’s appetite evaporated. She pushed her plate gently away and folded her napkin in her lap, each precise crease giving her a sense of small control.
Last night’s rejection still stung. He had held her as though she mattered, kissed her as though she were precious, and then shut her out once the passion had cooled. She felt foolish for having let herself hope.
Cassian finally set the paper aside. He looked at her then, but whatever emotion flickered in his eyes vanished before she could read it.
“Shall I have the carriage brought round for you later?” he asked. “If you intend to go into town.”
“No, thank you,” she informed him, dabbing the corner of her mouth with her napkin, despite the fact that she had not eaten a single bite. “Since I have plans of my own, I shall bid you good morning.”
Charlotte turned and left the breakfast room. She paused in the corridor, drawing a steadying breath. Then she lifted her chin and walked on. She found Miriam nearby, polishing the silver trays with practiced focus.
“Miriam,” Charlotte said, summoning composure, “please have my cloak and bonnet brought to the foyer. I intend to go into town.”
Miriam hesitated. “At once, Your Grace. Shall I accompany you?”
“Yes,” Charlotte answered. “I will not remain indoors today.”
Only once she was cloaked and gloved did she step outside. She expected the walk to clear her head. Instead, each step felt heavier than the one before.
If Cassian would not speak to her, then fine. She would occupy herself. She would stand, not fold.
The outskirts of the town came into view soon enough. Houses lined the streets and smoke curled from the chimneys. At first, nothing seemed amiss. A shopkeeper who was sweeping his stoop paused to bow politely. Two young ladies, arm in arm, dipped their heads in greeting.
Then she heard it.
“…so desperate, can you imagine?”
“…love letters, and to a common poet of all things…”
“…Duskbourne’s duchess—what a scandal…”
Her steps faltered. Miriam stiffened behind her. Charlotte lifted her chin and continued, ignoring the sudden hush that followed her passing. But the whispers picked back up as soon as her back was turned.
“They say she practically chased the duke, trying to save her reputation…”
“…those letters were pathetic—begging, pleading…”
“…ruined before her own wedding day…”
Charlotte’s spine went rigid. A group of older women clustered near the milliner’s door stopped talking altogether, staring at her with barely concealed fascination. When Charlotte met their eyes, one of them gave an insipid, pitying smile that felt like a slap.
Her pride wavered. Heat prickled behind her eyes.
She turned sharply into the nearest shop, which was a modest mercer’s, to escape the accusing eyes and poisonous murmurs. Once inside, she gripped the edge of a display table to steady herself.
Miriam stepped close. “Your Grace… we may return home. You do not need to endure this.”
Charlotte drew a slow breath, pressing back the tremor in her chest.
“If I flee,” she whispered, “then they win. They will say I am hiding. I refuse to cower because others choose cruelty.”
Miriam bowed her head. “Then I am with you. Always.”
Charlotte managed a strained smile of gratitude. But the truth burned beneath her skin. She had thought she was strong enough. It was all a lie.
Her voice shook despite her resolve. “Let us finish what we came for, Miriam. Then we will return.”
Miriam nodded. Charlotte forced her breathing to steady and stepped back outside. The whispers resumed, and each one cut a little deeper. By the time she reached the end of the lane, she realized she had not escaped anything.
She had only confronted it and found herself bleeding from wounds she could not hide.
***
Charlotte returned to Duskbourne with her pride scraped thin and her heart heavy from the day’s cruelty.
The manor, usually a comfort, felt colder than the streets she had just escaped.
She handed her bonnet and gloves to Miriam and made her way down the corridor, intent on retreating to her chambers.
But as she drew near Cassian’s study, she slowed, hearing voices.
Nicholas.
Her brother’s deep tone was unmistakable and urgent. She paused, listening despite herself.
“…she will not like it,” Nicholas murmured.
“She is not to be involved. I will not risk it,” Cassian snapped in reply. “That is final.”
Charlotte’s pulse quickened. Before she could think better of it, she pushed open the door. Cassian and Nicholas both turned sharply. Their expressions of guilt and tension tangled together, telling her more than any words could.
“Good afternoon,” she told them, sounding amused. “Nicholas. Cassian. I didn’t realize you were meeting.”
Nicholas recovered first, offering a fleeting smile. “Charlotte, we were just—”
“Speaking in whispers about me?” she cut in. “Yes, I gathered.”
Cassian stepped forward. “This is not a matter you need to concern yourself with—”
“No,” she snapped, surprising even herself with the ice in her tone. “You do not get to push me aside again.”
The room went still.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “Charlotte, it is not my place to—”
She turned on him sharply. “If it concerns me, it is your place. And my right to know. Do not tell me otherwise.”
Nicholas hesitated, then looked to Cassian, silently asking for permission.
Cassian’s jaw flexed. “No.”
“Cassian!” Her voice rose. “I am not a child. I am not porcelain. And I will not be sheltered while my name is torn apart.”
He closed his eyes briefly, as though fighting himself. Charlotte pressed on.
“What plan were you forming?”
Nicholas inhaled deeply. “We wanted to send Edmund a letter to draw him out, to make it seem like it’s from you. But the trouble is, we do not know where to send it. If he is moving about, it may never reach him.”
Charlotte drew in a steadying breath. The memory came clear as though it had been marked on the edge of a page.
“When he spoke of traveling,” she said, “he told me there was a place in town where a friend of his would fetch any letters I left. A small, unremarked post, behind the apothecary, by the lane that leads to the market. I once left a note there when he said he would be away, and someone took it in the night. If he has acquaintances who shelter him, that is where one of them might look.”
Cassian cut in sharply. “It is reckless. We don’t know who picks them up. We don’t know where Edmund is. It could expose her to danger.”
Charlotte met his gaze head-on. “I am already exposed.”
He flinched.
She stepped closer. “Cassian, I walked through town today. They whispered. They stared. They tore me apart with nothing but their tongues. Hiding will not save me. Doing nothing will not save me.”
“And offering yourself as bait?” he returned. “That will?”
“It gives us a chance to force him out of his hiding,” she insisted. “A chance to end this and to regain control. And I will not cower when I can fight.”
For a moment, she thought she could see fear in his eyes. “You could be hurt.”
“I already am,” she replied softly. “But if we do this, at least the pain means something.”
Cassian raked a hand through his hair and turned away, staring at the fire. “I will not send you out alone.”
“You won’t,” she said. “My maid will walk with me, as always. I will leave the letter at the drop point. Nothing more.”
Cassian faced her again, conflict etched in every line of him. She held his gaze without wavering.
At last, he exhaled. “If we do this…we do it my way, with precautions and with eyes on every corner. If I sense danger, we end it immediately. Is that understood?”
Charlotte nodded once. “Understood.”
Nicholas inclined his head. “Then it seems we have a plan.”
About fifteen minutes later, he excused himself and left them alone. Cassian remained by the desk, hands braced on its edge as though he needed the wood to anchor him.
“Charlotte, we need to discuss this in detail first.”
She met his gaze, bracing herself for distance again. She could not bear another morning like the last, another moment of him pushing her away under the guise of protection. Before he could speak another word, Charlotte moved.
She stepped into his space, rose on her toes, and kissed him.
It was not a timid kiss. This one was bold and certain; a decision rather than a question. Her hands slid to the lapels of his coat, holding him there, as though daring him to retreat again.
Cassian froze for a heartbeat. Then he answered. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, and the kiss deepened with sudden heat. All the restraint he carried seemed to fracture at once. She could feel his hunger, just like she felt her own taking over.
Charlotte felt her breath leave her, felt the world tilt as his mouth moved against hers with urgency and longing that stole every thought she had. She led him back, toward the chaise lounge in the corner of his study, by the bookshelf.
Pulling away from their kiss, she pushed him down. He looked utterly bewildered, as if he had no idea what was going on. In a way, she didn’t, either. So, she let her instinct guide her as she spread her legs and sat on his lap, her skirts pooled around her.
She grabbed his face and continued kissing him, moving her tongue deep inside, claiming him as her own, just like he had claimed her the previous time.
Hastily and eagerly, her hand travelled down to his pants and unbuttoned his trousers. He groaned when she took his manhood into her hand. It felt warm and hard, and she felt it beading with wetness.
“Charlotte…” she heard him say against her lips, and it drove her wild with desire.
Lifting herself up just slightly, without breaking the kiss, she adjusted his manhood, pressing it to her swollen bud. It slid up and down so easily, and she could feel herself between her fingers, spreading that wet heat.
He groaned again, louder this time, when she slowly slid down onto him, taking him inside of her.
“I want you…” she managed to murmur as he kept kissing her.
Her words seemed to awaken something inside of him. He took her by the waist and started thrusting up into her, deep and hard, forcing the very breath out of her lungs.
She kept taking him into her mindlessly, feeling that tidal wave of pleasure nearing the final point of no return. Wet and wild with desire, she gripped him, biting his lip, moaning loudly as she stared into his eyes. She didn’t want to look away for a single moment while she was claiming him.
Finally, he thrust one more time, and a million little stars exploded in her field of vision, while ecstasy filled every fibre of her being. He followed suit a moment later, and they remained like that, lost in the throttle of pleasure for a few breathless moments.
Charlotte stepped back first, smoothing her skirt with trembling fingers.
“I should go,” she said quietly, gathering herself. “There is much to prepare before tomorrow.”
She turned toward the door. Cassian’s hand closed around her wrist in a way a drowning man might seize a lifeline.
“Will you come to me tonight?” he asked.
She kept her back to him for a heartbeat. Then, gently, she slipped her hand free and faced him.
“I will, but only for convenience, not affection,” she clarified. “I am honouring the terms of our marriage. You made them very clear.”
He didn’t say anything, so she continued. “I will not ask for things you do not wish to give, like your heart. But I am your wife. And if there is physical affection to be had between us,” she swallowed, lifting her chin, “then I am willing, but without nonsense emotions to complicate matters.”
Cassian went rigid.
“Is that what you want?” he asked.
She met his gaze without wavering. “Yes. We both have needs, Cassian. And that is all I require. Nothing more.”
Then she opened the door and walked out. Cassian didn’t follow. But Charlotte felt his gaze burning into her back as she left. She knew, with a pang she refused to acknowledge aloud, that she had hurt him.
Worse, she had hurt herself.